Past Perfect
by Gracielinn
Summary: Right then and there, Wyatt swore to himself that he'd take care of Lucy and keep her safe, no matter how long they were stranded in 1955 Darlington, South Carolina, even if it was for the rest of their lives... AU Wyatt POV set between the end of The Darlington 500 and Hollywoodland.
1. Chapter 1

Past Perfect

 _A/N #1: The inspiration for this two-part story came from a conversation with some of my Timeless friends on Twitter not long ago and is listed at the end of this chapter..._

Chapter One

 _September 4, 1955 - Darlington, South Carolina_

Breathing heavily, Wyatt crouched over Lucy's prone body, praying fervently Rufus had gotten to the lifeboat and escaped before Emma and her hired goon caught up to him. Not long after bidding Wendell farewell at the track, it was nearing dusk when the team was walking along a dusty gravel road about a half mile from where they'd hidden the time machine. Without warning, an old Ford pickup came careening around the bend and catching sight of the stony-faced redhead in the passenger seat, Wyatt instinctively grabbed Lucy's arm and shouting at Rufus to remember the protocol, the trio rapidly split into two directions.

Torn between relief when Emma apparently decided to ignore Rufus, who was taking a roundabout path to the lifeboat and-since she'd come back to him just days ago-his ever-present fear something would happen to Lucy, Wyatt ruthlessly dragged her along as he immediately headed for a thickly-wooded area about a hundred yards from the road. Running headlong into the stand of trees with Lucy in tow, he noticed absently that in spite of the still warm late summer temperature, how chilly and eerily quiet the woods were, save for the roar of the pickup behind them as the idiot driving floored the gas in hot pursuit. They tore through the dense foliage, too intent on escape to worry about the low branches and brambles that mercilessly tore at their clothes and exposed skin, until unfortunately, Lucy tripped over a fallen tree limb at the edge of a shallow embankment.

Eluding Wyatt's desperate lunge in her direction, to his horror, she tumbled down the gently sloping hill with a muffled shriek, rolling in a blur of bare legs, saddle shoes, and white petticoats, the red jacket he'd gallantly offered earlier falling off her shoulders about halfway down the hill, before Lucy's momentum was stopped by an old oak tree, ending up face down in a sprawled heap against the gnarled trunk.

Heart in his throat, Wyatt frantically skidded down the embankment after her, falling to his knees beside her limp body. Modestly tugging down the full blue skirt she was wearing over pale, slender thighs, he cautiously turned Lucy over, frowning at the ugly laceration above her left eye that was starting to ooze blood. Putting two fingers against her delicate throat, Wyatt closed his eyes in sheer gratitude at finding a pulse. _Thank you, God._

Racing back up the embankment, he snatched his jacket before returning to her side. "Lucy? Can you hear me? I need you to wake up now," he urged hoarsely, crouching down and carefully tucked the garment around her torso. Watching her wan face anxiously, Wyatt unconsciously held his breath until several tense seconds later, Lucy's feathery dark lashes eventually fluttered open, and she gazed up at him in stunned bewilderment.

"What...What happened?" she asked dazedly, struggling to sit up. Bringing a shaky hand up to touch her forehead, Lucy's eyes widened in shock when her fingers came back covered in bright red stickiness. "Wyatt? I'm bleeding," she whimpered in disbelief.

Digging a clean handkerchief out of his back pocket and dabbing at Lucy's forehead, Wyatt murmured softly, "Shh, Lucy, we have to be very quiet–I don't know where Emma or her partner are right now, alright? Let's get you up on your feet, sweetheart," the endearment falling involuntarily from his lips. When she blinked in surprise before nodding wordlessly, he stood, offering her a reassuring smile. Leaning down and taking her small hands securely in his, Wyatt started to pull Lucy to her feet when she pitched forward against him with a muted groan. "What is it?" he frowned, catching her around the waist.

"Ow, ow...my ankle...something's wrong," Lucy panted, pulling away from Wyatt and awkwardly dropping back down to the ground at his feet, the ruined skirt puddling around her. Wincing, she gingerly straightened muddy, scraped bare legs for Wyatt to examine, grimacing and biting her lower lip in pain but bravely making no sound as his fingertips danced feather light around her rapidly-swelling right ankle. "Is it broken?" Lucy whispered anxiously, slim shoulders relaxing slightly when Wyatt shook his head.

"No, but it looks like a pretty severe sprain," he responded grimly, looking up at her in time to see a single tear slipping down her smudged cheek. "Hey, c'mon, now, Ma'am, don't cry–you know I can't take it when you cry," Wyatt confessed ruefully, taking his thumb and delicately swiping the tear away.

Gazing up at him, her dark eyes full of unshed tears, Lucy blinked furiously and asked, "Really?" a tentative smile lurking on her trembling lips.

"Yes, really," he answered firmly, satisfied when her smile widened just a little, even as it left him fighting the sudden urge to kiss her. Without warning, the stillness of the woods around them was broken by the sound of voices from above. _Shit._ Emma and her accomplice were on foot now and dangerously close. Bending protectively over Lucy, Wyatt put his lips to her ear and breathed, "I'm gonna pick you up now–put your arms around my neck and don't make a sound," and without waiting for her response, easily lifted her slight weight in his arms.

Intent on putting as much distance between them and Emma as possible, Wyatt painstakingly picked his way deeper into the shadowy woods, Lucy cradled against his chest. Now that the sun had gone down, visibility was increasingly limited, making the terrain even more treacherous. Luckily, they'd only gone about twenty yards when he spied an overgrown tangle of bushes that might serve as a hiding place until hopefully Emma gave up. While he could certainly hold his own, Wyatt had no desire to risk Lucy's life by engaging in a gunfight in the dark with two trained killers. _He just could not bear the thought of losing her again..._

Carefully setting Lucy down a couple feet away, Wyatt crouched in front of the bushes and hastily shoved aside the sharp, wiry branches, heedless of the stinging little scratches being inflicted on his face and bare forearms. If he could reach a little farther back, there should be just enough room for the two of them to hide. Though she remained silent, Wyatt sensed Lucy's worried gaze on him, and belatedly remembering her claustrophobia, felt a twinge of regret at what he was about to do to her, but it couldn't be helped. A couple minutes later, he was somewhat satisfied and turning around, lifted one shoulder apologetically and pulled his jacket from her.

"Hang on to this a second," he instructed, "and when I pick you up, I want you to grab my shirt as tight as you can and tuck your face against my chest so you don't get scratched as much, alright?" Pressing her lips together, she nodded obediently. Bending low, Wyatt gathered Lucy up and once her slim fingers were clenched in his shirt, he tightened his arms around her and scooted backwards into the hiding place. He paid no mind to the whip-like branches clawing at him–flinching only at Lucy's pained gasp when her hair got caught on a branch.

After Wyatt had squeezed them in as far back as possible, with him facing front, he clumsily spread the jacket on the damp ground with one hand before lowering Lucy on top of it. Hastily patting his pocket, he made sure his gun was in reach, just in case. Finally, reaching overhead, he tugged as many leafy branches down over their little cocoon as he could manage. Pulling her shivering body snugly against his, Wyatt began to slowly rub his hands soothingly up and down her back and exposed arm. "Wyatt," she murmured tentatively, her soft breath warming his neck, "I'm scared."

His heart ached at the underlying shame in her voice. _What had her mother and the rest of those Rittenhouse bastards done to his brave, determined friend?_ His Lucy was practically fearless when it came to fighting for what she believed in. Any doubts he might've had about whether Lucy was telling him the truth about being "fine" when she brushed off his concern earlier today before the jump were thoroughly validated.

Despite being well-trained to endure sustained torture and mind control, fortunately, Wyatt himself had never experienced it firsthand, although a couple of his Delta Force buddies had. He was well aware the process involved an ongoing, systematic dismantling of a person's will and moral compass. For someone like Lucy, who possessed a formidable intelligence and unwavering moral center, Wyatt was certain Rittenhouse had used–and knowing those zealous psychos, probably enjoyed-every available method they had to try and break her.

His arms tightened protectively around Lucy as he sought to tamp down his simmering rage at her mistreatment. _Now was not the time._ At the moment, they were in a tough-though not impossible-spot, and Wyatt needed to keep his wits about him if he and Lucy were to survive until Rufus returned to retrieve them. Thank God for the new protocols Agent Christopher put in place after they'd brought Lucy home from 1918 just weeks ago: Any member of the team stranded during a mission, no matter where or _when_ in time they were, was to stay put, hopefully laying low and surviving until eventual rescue. Wyatt had faith in their friend that he'd return for them as soon as it was humanly possible.

Pressing a tender kiss to her soft hair, he promised in a low voice, "Shh, it's alright, don't be scared...I'm right here, and I'm not going to leave you, _ever_ , Lucy, okay?" She sniffled against his neck in response and shuddering once, gradually relaxed in his arms, and for a time, the whole world narrowed to each other and their desperate attempt to stay hidden from Emma.

Even though Lucy was shivering and Wyatt's arms had started to cramp, they stayed hidden in the woods for at least an hour after the distant sound of voices and footsteps crunching over leaves and sticks eventually faded away, until it had gone full dark. At this point, Wyatt thought it was safe to say Rufus had successfully gotten away and returned to 2018 without them. Working on that assumption then, with no money or transportation and very few options, he decided their best bet was to return to the racetrack and seek out the only person they knew in this place and time.

It was excruciatingly slow going with Lucy's twisted ankle leaving her barely able to hobble, and Wyatt constantly scanning their surroundings for Emma. Fortunately, Wendell was still at the track, just finishing up for the night. Cold, tired, and worried about Lucy, he stumbled through a lame-ass cover story when naturally, the alarmed and faintly suspicious driver had questioned where Rufus was. Although they regretted the need to lie to the man about their friend's whereabouts, it couldn't be helped. Their very lives could depend on following the protocol to the letter.

Finally, an uncertain Wendell accepted the rather shaky explanation for their circumstances, and things moved pretty quickly after that. Once Wyatt and Lucy were settled in his jalopy, they stopped at a payphone outside of town just long enough so he could call his sister, Guelda, who worked as a housekeeper for a local minister and agreed to meet them at the church parsonage. After Wendell dropped them off in an alley behind the church, Wyatt knocked on the back door and when it opened, stepped inside the brightly-lit kitchen with his arm around Lucy, who he feared was going into shock, on top of being barely able to walk because of her badly-turned ankle.

Allowing a bit of his natural Texas twang to slip into his voice, Wyatt smiled politely at the tall, neatly-dressed woman and said, "Thank you, Ma'am, we hate to put you out, but sure do appreciate your kindness...I'm Wyatt Logan and this is my wife, Lucy. We're in town for the race, but sad to say, have run into a bit of trouble, and, well, we met your brother earlier today, and since he's the only person we know in Darlington..." Worried he'd said too much, his voice trailed off.

Smiling kindly in return, she answered, "That's quite alright, Mr. and Mrs. Logan, and don't you worry, it's no trouble at all. Wendell told me you were set upon by car thieves after the race and that you needed a little bit of help. Have to say, and it might not be a popular opinion around here because of all the money the race brings into town, but I don't think very highly of it because the race also brings in the riffraff like the men who robbed you and stole your car. And as a resident of Darlington, I'm sorry for it. But on the bright side, since my brother brought you here, you know two people in town now, and I promise you we're going to help you get back on your feet."

And without missing a beat (and having said her piece), the housekeeper directed them to a small office just off the kitchen with a shabby but clean sofa along one wall while she put a teakettle to heat on the stove for tea.

Nearly overcome with relief, Wyatt was grateful for the woman's calm acceptance of the two bedraggled strangers dropped off on her doorstep. He knew they looked pretty rough, both exhausted, hungry, and disheveled, faces and arms scratched pretty badly in spots, especially Lucy. Scooping his "wife" up and placing her on the sofa, he was grateful when the other woman thoughtfully covered Lucy's trembling shoulders with a crocheted blanket first before fetching a small basin of water and some bandages. She made no sound other than a faint gasp when he gently dabbed at the seeping cut over her eye.

They quickly discovered that Guelda Scott was a force of nature-compassionate, soft-spoken, and unfailingly cheerful. After the worst of their cuts and scrapes were cleaned, she led them down a narrow hallway to a tidy guest bedroom. Scrupulously clean, it was furnished with twin beds and a small dresser, and considering their circumstances, looked pretty damn good. Wyatt gently set Lucy down on one of the beds and glancing at the housekeeper, thanked her profusely. Waving away his gratitude, Guelda smiled and promised she'd return in a few minutes with ice for Lucy's ankle, along with some sandwiches and the hot tea.

He stared at the closed door a moment before turning back to Lucy, and carefully removing her saddle shoe and sock, frowned in dismay at the puffy ankle. "Here, let's get your back against the headboard and we can prop your ankle up on a pillow for a while, alright?" Face pale with fatigue, she didn't argue, merely nodded and trustingly wrapped her arms around Wyatt's neck when he lifted and resettled her.

Concentrating on getting her injured ankle elevated, he could feel the weight of Lucy's anxious stare. "Wyatt?" she began, "What are we going to do until Rufus comes back? Or what if something happened to him and he never comes back? We could be stranded in 1955 forever." The growing fear and uncertainty in her voice nearly undid him.

 _Jesus–was Lucy Preston ever going to get a break in this world?_ It had been less than two weeks since he and Rufus had brought Lucy home-and in his opinion, not yet truly recovered from her ordeal–and now it appeared they'd been left to fend for themselves more than sixty years in the past with almost no resources. It was a testament to her incredible strength that she wasn't completely freaking out.

Taking a seat on the bed, Wyatt took Lucy's hand in his and gazing into her eyes, did his best to reassure her. "Lucy, I know that things might look pretty grim, but we've been in worse jams before. Rufus knows the protocol as well as we do, and I have faith that as soon as he's able, he _will_ find a way to come back for us. In the meantime, not only do we have each other, but Wendell and his sister have offered to help us. The way I see it, with your brains and my muscles, we _will_ find a way to survive until it's time to go home to 2018. And if for some reason that never happens, well, I can't think of anybody else I'd rather be stranded in the past with than you, Ma'am."

Dark eyes filling with tears, without warning, Lucy pulled him to her and wrapping her hands around the back of his neck, kissed Wyatt fiercely. And for a few glorious seconds, he forgot all about their troubles. Her lips were warm and sweet and _damn_ , kissing Lucy felt as natural to him as breathing and Wyatt didn't think he'd ever feel differently. All too soon, there was a polite knock at the door and they broke apart guiltily, panting lightly and staring at each in surprise, unconsciously mirroring their reactions to that first kiss in front of Bonnie and Clyde.

He cleared his throat and said in a husky voice, "Come in," while Lucy instantly dropped her gaze. Even as the door opened behind him to reveal Guelda carrying a full tray, Wyatt leaned in and murmured, "We'll discuss you taking advantage of me later, Lucy Preston," gratified (and amused) when her head popped up and she gazed at him wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked and so damn beautiful he could hardly breathe.

It hadn't taken long for Wyatt to acknowledge to himself after they'd rescued Lucy that in spite of his non-committal response at the time, Rufus hadn't been wrong in 1918 when he accused him of being in love with her. So faced with a difficult situation, Wyatt came to an easy decision, right then and there, and swore to himself that he'd take care of Lucy and keep her safe, no matter how long they were stranded in 1955, even if it was for the rest of their lives...

 _A/N #2: As promised, here's the idea that sent me down the rabbit hole this past week: What if Emma had come after the team in Darlington before they safely jumped back to 2018, and Wyatt and Lucy ended up being stranded in 1955? How long would they be there and what would their lives be like? Anyway, I thought it was an intriguing premise, and this is the result. I have already written a good part of the second half, and hope to post it in a couple days. Since this two-shot is strictly from Wyatt's POV, if there's enough of a positive response, I may write a sequel from Lucy's POV. Of course, that would be AFTER I finish the next chapter of Guarding My Heart-I promise! As always, my thanks to all of you who read and support my stories–I really appreciate it :))_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 _December 23, 1955 - Darlington, South Carolina_

The faint strains of Bing Crosby crooning "White Christmas" drifted from the RCA transistor radio sitting in one corner of the slightly grimy, tool-covered workbench. Under the hood of a gleaming cherry red and creamy white Chevy Bel Air (the pride and joy of Darlington's mayor), Wyatt hummed along under his breath, intent on finishing the monthly maintenance the car's owner insisted upon before quitting time, a task he thoroughly enjoyed.

Though truth be told, there wasn't much Wyatt Logan didn't enjoy nowadays. The past few months had been probably the happiest he'd ever experienced, and that included the early "honeymoon" years of his marriage to Jessica. Despite his rational mind insisting this new life he and Lucy were sharing was just make believe-some fantasy likely to vanish the moment Rufus returned for them-Wyatt's heart knew better.

Since crossing the invisible line between best friends and something sweet and lasting and _real_ a few days after arriving in 1955, every morning he woke with Lucy in his arms without the constant, exhausting threat of Rittenhouse hanging over them was like a precious gift, one Wyatt never felt deserving of, let alone dared wish for. She had saved him so many times-unknowingly giving his life new purpose and meaning-that regardless of where ( _when_ ) they ended up, he only wanted to be with her.

Another source of satisfaction for Wyatt was how easily he and Lucy had settled into their new lives. Certainly, their successful acclimation owed a tremendous debt of gratitude to Wendell, not only for calling his good friend Jimmy and getting him this job, but also for sending them to Guelda. From the night they met, she'd been nothing but kind and generous, starting with bringing in a doctor to stitch up the cut on Lucy's forehead, a quick stop at the church's clothes closet so they had something clean to wear, and even finding them a furnished apartment to rent. Wyatt shuddered to think how awful their circumstances would have turned out to be without Guelda's help.

Sympathetic to their initial cover story about being robbed and left for dead on their way out of town that evening in September, in addition to the Scott siblings, numerous residents of Darlington gradually welcomed the newcomers as well. Wyatt started working for Jimmy that very week, and soon was on a first-name basis with people like the town barber and a couple guys who worked at the local hardware store. One of his very favorite people in Darlington, however, was their landlord. Wyatt would never forget the day Guelda introduced them to Maggie Spencer...

 _Flashback_

Because of her swollen ankle, he and Lucy ended up staying at the parsonage for nearly three days, a necessary situation that evoked mixed feelings in Wyatt. He was truly grateful to the minister and his family for giving them food and shelter while Lucy was recuperating from her sprained ankle, but having to tolerate this much forced inactivity, however, always tended to frustrate him– _just ask Rufus or Denise Christopher_ , he thought wryly.

Ignoring Lucy's poorly-concealed amusement at his restless behavior, Wyatt consoled himself with the thought that at least hiding away in the parsonage like this kept her safe since they had no way of knowing if Emma and her partner were still prowling around Darlington. As an added bonus, Wyatt was getting to spend nearly 24/7 with the woman he loved after enduring their agonizing separation. While he was faintly disappointed Lucy absolutely refused to open up to him about the six weeks she was a Rittenhouse captive, one of the many things they did discuss, in addition to what might be happening back in 2018, was the future.

He was taken aback when Lucy was less than optimistic about sustaining their cover story for an indefinite period of time, considering she was (in his opinion) an expert on history and anthropology. "I don't know, Wyatt, it's one thing to try and blend in with our surroundings for a few hours or possibly a couple of days. What if it ends up being weeks or maybe longer?" she fretted after lunch Tuesday. They had the place to themselves, sitting around the kitchen table playing cards to pass the time while Guelda was out running errands and the minister and his wife were visiting parishioners at the local hospital. "Don't you think we should be making some kind of plans in case Rufus doesn't come back soon? Aren't you even the slightest bit concerned?" He could easily imagine what she left unspoken... _if something happened and Rufus doesn't return at all..._

Laying down his cards, Wyatt took her hand and squeezed gently. "Lucy, I have every confidence between the two of us, we'll be fine. C'mon, you're the smartest woman I know, and so much more capable than I think you sometimes give yourself credit for, plus don't forget, I've had a little experience with undercover ops in the past. We got this, sweetheart, no matter how long we're here for, whether we go home tomorrow or even if, well, even if it turns out to be for the rest of our lives. Alright?"

Cheeks pinking at his compliment (and probably the impulsive endearment), she gazed into his eyes intently for a long moment, before taking a deep breath and nodding with a shy smile, instantly setting Wyatt's mind at ease that they were on the same page. A second later, Lucy grinned mischievously but didn't speak. When Wyatt stared at her curiously, she relented and mused aloud, "It just occurred to me, and of course, Rufus would probably know better than us, but didn't Marty McFly go back to 1955? Does that mean I can call you..."

Wyatt ruthlessly cut her off by putting his hand over her mouth and warning, "Do _not_ call me Marty." Her eyes gleamed with laughter, breath warm against his palm and when it seemed like she was about to protest, he pretended to frown in disapproval, secretly enjoying the sound of her giggles when he removed his hand. The rest of the day, every time Wyatt looked at Lucy, she would mouth the word "Marty," and he only shook his head, pleased he could make her smile.

By the next morning, Lucy was getting around well enough that when the housekeeper announced at breakfast she might've found them a place to live, a relieved Wyatt was more than ready to go–not that he didn't appreciate everyone's kindness. Once they finished the hearty Southern-style breakfast Guelda prepared for them, the two of them got cleaned up before accompanying her to a small restaurant on Main Street called "Maggie's Diner," where a sign in the front window proclaimed in a fancy looping script, _"Best Pie in 6 Counties."_

"Maggie not only runs the diner, but owns the whole building, including the apartment upstairs," Guelda informed them, holding open the door as a bell tinkled musically above their heads. Despite just finishing a meal fit for a lumberjack, Wyatt's mouth watered at the enticing smell of food and freshly-made coffee in the air. From what he could see, the whole place was so clean, it practically shone and nearly every table was full. _Apparently, this Maggie ran a tight ship_ , he thought approvingly.

Just then a diminutive older woman with twinkling blue eyes and impossibly blonde hair done up in the puffiest beehive Wyatt had ever seen walked through the swinging kitchen doors. "Well, Guelda Scott, who have you brought to see me this morning?" she asked in a soft drawl, openly staring at them with interest. He immediately stepped forward and held out his hand.

"Ma'am, I'm Wyatt Logan, and this is my wife, Lucy," he answered, a bit surprised when the older woman took his hand with a surprisingly strong grip and shook it firmly before offering her hand to Lucy.

"Well, now, of course you are," she responded warmly, and at the confused expression on their faces, she explained, "My friend, Guelda here, told me a bit about you and your pretty little missus and the trouble y'all ran into. I felt so bad about your misfortune here in Darlington that when she said y'all needed a place to stay until you get back on your feet, I asked her to bring you here. Now just hold on a second while I tell my short-order cook, Sam, to hold down the fort."

Before they knew it, Maggie led them outside and up the steep steps that ran up the side of the diner to the second floor. Pulling a shiny gold key from her apron pocket, she unlocked a door at the top of the steps and ushered them inside. Looking around, Wyatt immediately liked when he saw. Although not very large, just two rooms and a bath, like the diner downstairs, everything was spotless and smelled of lemons.

The surprisingly spacious room they were standing in had a row of sparkling windows that overlooked the street below, and contained a worn (though comfortable looking) sofa, a recliner, two side tables with lamps, and there was a small black and white television on a stand in the corner. In the opposite corner of the room was the kitchen nook, complete with a refrigerator and compact gas stove, and instead of a table and chairs, there were two stools in front of a grey Formica counter that divided the kitchen from the living room. The walls were painted a soft yellow, with some kind of flowery stenciling running along the top.

To the left of the kitchen, a narrow hallway led to a modest-sized bedroom, just big enough to hold a double bed and a long, low dresser with a mirror. Directly across the hall was a tiny bathroom done in shades of pale blue and white. Maggie took a couple minutes to point out all the amenities, and then she and Guelda left them alone in the bedroom to look around. "I like it," Lucy whispered, "It's small, but very clean," and Wyatt squeezed her hand in agreement.

Once they rejoined the women in the front room, Maggie got right down to business. "Alright then, to be perfectly honest, I usually get $10 a week rent for this place, which includes utilities, but seeing as how you're in a tough spot at the present time, and seem to be a real nice young couple, I'm going to ask $7 a week. And no rent due until you draw your first paycheck, which since Guelda tells me that you've already found a job over at Jimmy's, should be in another week or so. How's that sound?" As far as Wyatt was concerned, it sounded perfect. And just like that, they were living together, and Maggie became a trusted friend.

 _End Flashback_

Perhaps most important to him was the air of peaceful contentment Lucy wore as easily as a favorite sweater as the weeks went by and living beneath the burden of Rittenhouse lessened. She was radiant with a happiness Wyatt found impossible to resist, so it was little wonder he fell deeper in love with her every day, although neither one of them had actually said those three little words aloud yet. _But soon..._

In the meantime, Wyatt reminded himself, the faster he finished with this car, the more time he'd have with Lucy–a nice long holiday weekend. It sure was a beautiful car, top of the line, and three months ago, new-on-the-job Wyatt had been surprised when his boss, Jimmy-owner of Jimmy's Auto Repair–called him up front and with a wink, casually tossed him the keys. He'd stared at the older man in disbelief for a couple seconds before a slow grin spread across his face. Not only was the Mayor was one of Jimmy's best customers, he was known to be _very_ particular about his automobiles, and Wyatt felt ridiculously proud to be trusted with the brand-new vehicle.

 _Thank God he knew his way around "vintage" cars_ , he mused, once again grateful for the recommendation from Wendell, because otherwise, cheap rent or not, he and Lucy might have starved the last three months. Considering his extensive military background, Wyatt was probably better suited to a job in law enforcement, but after what happened to Ryan Millerson and his wife, he and Lucy thought it prudent they keep as low a profile with the local police as possible for the duration of their stay (however long that might be).

Not only that, but the money actually wasn't bad–$2.50 an hour, which was more than respectable for 1955. Every Friday, he took home his paycheck of around $100, and so far, they'd lived fairly comfortably, if not extravagantly. Although he'd never voice it aloud to a modern, independent woman like Lucy, Wyatt was secretly pleased to be able to take care of her, gladly putting in 45 hours a week at the shop, 7:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m Monday through Friday and a half day on Saturdays. Except for tomorrow, which was Christmas Eve.

Jimmy had unexpectedly come in the shop earlier in the day, and in addition to handing Wyatt and the other mechanic, John, each a Christmas card containing a crisp $5.00 bill, announced that the shop was closed tomorrow _and_ the guys were getting paid for the half day. Pleased at the thought of a two-day weekend, Wyatt had been even more grateful for the bonus, because he already knew exactly what ( _and_ _who_ ) to spend it on.

Completely disregarding the fact he and Lucy had decided weeks ago not to exchange Christmas gifts to save back some money, Wyatt had his eye on a dainty gold necklace with a tiny garnet chip (her birth stone) in the center that he'd seen in the front window of the jewelers shop on the corner. After putting a small deposit down on the necklace, he'd been saving back his pocket change for weeks, and the extra $5.00 from Jimmy would more than pay the balance in full.

And knowing Lucy, it was a foregone conclusion she'd fuss at him and pretend to be upset, but he was pretty sure she would secretly love it. It was important to Wyatt that he do something a little special for their first Christmas together, since they were stuck more than sixty years in the past, away from everyone and everything familiar except each other.

Even for someone as knowledgeable as Lucy, Wyatt was well aware adjusting to life in 1955 hadn't been easy at first, especially when you factored in the added stress of worrying her mother would somehow figure out where– _when_ –they were hiding and send Emma in the mother ship after them. Eventually, though, time passed, and when there was no sign of anyone or anything remotely Rittenhouse, they gradually relaxed their vigilance and comfortably settled into posing as a young married couple in the '50's.

Everyone had been so kind and accepting of "Mr. and Mrs. Logan," it went a long way towards easing Wyatt's mind whenever he worried about their uncertain future. On the increasingly rare occasions when he and Lucy discussed their situation, they did agree that of all the places and times they'd visited since these missions began, in light of the friendly reception they'd received here, there were far worse places to be stranded than a small town in 1955 South Carolina– _like 1754 Pennsylvania or 1894 Chicago or 1944 Germany during WWII..._

The drastically slower pace of life was unexpectedly appealing–a welcome respite from their dangerous, insane, frantic lives in 2018. Naturally, they missed some of the 21st century conveniences everyone took for granted–things like ATM's, the internet, cable television, Starbucks–and definitely one of the biggest adjustments was living without their cell phones. Still, even if they hadn't left them in the lifeboat when they'd arrived back in September, the iPhones would be useless without the means to recharge the batteries.

On the plus side, though, Wyatt could scarcely believe gas was only 23 cents a gallon (no wonder everyone drove big-ass eight-cylinder cars and trucks), and trips to the grocery store were like a living history lesson that Lucy especially found fascinating. Bread costing 18 cents a loaf? Less than a dollar a pound for coffee? Sure, food in this decade _was_ rather plain compared to the dizzying variety of choices in their time, but quite plentiful in post-war America, and as Lucy thoughtfully pointed out, much healthier.

Any worries they might have had about being bored without all the diversions they were accustomed to at home were quickly put to rest. For a town of around 6,500 residents, there was a remarkable number of free or inexpensive things to do, nearly all within walking distance. They took long walks around town, attended football games on Friday nights at the local high school where Maggie's oldest grandson was the starting quarterback, treated themselves to a movie almost every Saturday night, and Wyatt even went fishing a couple of times with his boss. And when the weather began to cool off, they stayed inside and sometimes watched television (when they weren't otherwise occupied). While college professor Lucy never missed a game show called " _The $64,000 Question,"_ Wyatt got hooked on " _Dragnet_ " and for rather obvious reasons, was a big fan of " _I Love Lucy_."

Rather surprisingly, since he wasn't (and never had been) overly fond of organized religion, Wyatt found he didn't mind attending weekly church services where Guelda's employer preached, especially once someone there noticed that Lucy could sing, and she was invited to join the choir-something she enjoyed very much. That let to the minister's wife finding Lucy a job at the Darlington Public Library a couple mornings a week. It didn't pay much, only 75 cents an hour, but the money was secondary to the pleasure she got out of being surrounded by her beloved books.

Gradually, as he and Lucy grew more comfortable with their surroundings, they made the effort to socialize with other people and began making new friends–although naturally, none of them could ever replace Rufus, Jiya, Denise Christopher or even Connor Mason in their hearts. Just last week, they'd been invited to supper by his co-worker, John, and his wife Helen. After enjoying a delicious meal (Helen was an excellent cook), the two young couples were playing cards when John tried to coax Wyatt into joining his weekly bowling league, which greatly amused Lucy. Ignoring the delighted smirk on his "wife's" face, Wyatt politely promised to think about it and rapidly changed the subject.

Later that evening, while they were getting ready for bed, Lucy couldn't resist kidding him. "Oh, c'mon, Wyatt, you should do it...might be good for you to hang out with someone besides me one night a week, and I bet you'd get to wear one of those sexy bowling shirts and everything," she teased, dark eyes dancing with humor. She squealed when he suddenly grabbed her around the waist and putting her arms around his neck, nuzzled his clean-shaven jaw (no respectable young man in the '50's went around scruffy). _God, he loved this woman_ –although he hadn't gotten up to courage to tell her so yet.

Without warning, he lifted her into his arms and growled, "I'll show you sexy," before gently tossing her on the bed and settling himself between her slender thighs.

"Yes! My nefarious plan worked perfectly, then," she retorted breathlessly, moving restlessly under him and wrapping her hands around his neck, Lucy drew his lips to hers, effectively putting an end to the bowling conversation.

Wyatt finished up the Bel Air and called the Mayor's office to leave a message the car was ready to be picked up because the shop would be closed over the long weekend. Since John had already wished him a "Merry Christmas" and gone home about an hour ago, Wyatt took a few minutes to put away his tools and get cleaned up.

The Mayor himself came in to pick up the car a few minutes before closing. After paying the bill, he shook Wyatt's hand and thanked him, and then did something startling. Reaching in his suit pocket, he pulled out a $20 bill and handed it to Wyatt, who politely tried to refuse, but the man was adamant.

"Now, Wyatt, you've been taking excellent care of this beauty for months now, and she's never looked or run better. Jimmy and I go way back, since grade school, and I know he pays a fair wage, but I wanted to show my appreciation for your hard work. So, thanks again, and Merry Christmas, son." Giving Wyatt a wink and a hearty pat on the back, he was gone, leaving Wyatt to stare after him in wonder. _What a kind thing to do._

Shaking his head in amazement at the unexpected windfall, he hurriedly turned out all the lights and locked up, intent on getting to the jewelers before they closed. A few minutes later, Wyatt was waiting patiently in front of a gleaming display case while the salesgirl went in the back to get Lucy's necklace, when a selection of wedding bands caught his eye. Back in September when they first arrived, Maggie had noticed that neither he or Lucy wore a wedding ring, and uncomfortable with lying to her, Wyatt had mumbled something about the "car thieves" and swiftly changed the subject. But here it was Christmas already, and they'd been pretending for months to be married, and the money from the Mayor was just burning a hole in his pocket...

It was just after 5:00 when he let himself in the front door, and taking off his jacket, he grinned at the sound of Lucy singing drifting down the hallway. _All I Want For Christmas is You_ , by Mariah Carey, if he wasn't mistaken, a decidedly modern Christmas song compared to what played on the radio. She'd already plugged in the lights on the small Christmas tree that sat in front of the windows, and the light pine scent of the fresh-cut tree mingled with the smell of their dinner simmering on the stove.

Standing there in the snug little apartment, surrounded by the sights and sounds and smells of this life the two of them had created, not merely out of necessity, but love as well, it struck Wyatt like a fierce bolt of lightning that he was _home._ It didn't matter when or where in time he was, home was anywhere Lucy was because _she_ was his home, everything he could ever want or need in this life. Weeks ago, as the days passed without any sign of Rufus (or Rittenhouse, for that matter), an idea had taken hold of him that he hadn't shared with Lucy. _Until now._

Sticking her head out of the bedroom and catching sight of Wyatt, Lucy flew down the hallway into his arms, kissing him enthusiastically, before leaning back and beaming at him. "You're finally home! Did the Mayor's car take you longer than usual? Good news-Maggie sent up a whole pot of chicken and dumplings for dinner, her grandma's recipe she said, and there's apple pie for dessert because she knows it's your favorite and...Wyatt? Is something wrong?" Lucy's voice trailed off, a puzzled expression on her face.

The words fell impulsively from Wyatt's lips as he fumbled with the small square box in his pants pocket. With shaking hands, he popped the lid open and taking a deep breath, asked "Lucy, I know this might seem kind of sudden and we haven't talked about it at all, but will you marry me?" showing her the delicate gold band that was set with three diamond chips. She stared at him mutely, whiskey eyes widened in shock.

Starting to feel slightly nervous, he put his hand on her soft cheek and confessed, "I've been in love with you for months now and just don't want to pretend any more–I want you to be my wife for real, and I want to be your husband, Ma'am, if you'll have me." His heart sank as Lucy took a shuddering breath but didn't speak. _Oh, God, had he overstepped or misjudged her feelings?_ Lowering the ring box, Wyatt's other hand dropped from her cheek and he started to step back when without warning, she threw herself at him. "Yes! Yes! I love you, too, so much-I have for a long time, so yes! Of course I'll marry you," she cried against his neck, clinging desperately to Wyatt. He held her trembling body tightly, pressing gentle kisses to her soft hair and murmuring words of comfort until she gradually calmed.

Pulling out of his arms, Lucy self-consciously swiped at her tear-streaked cheeks, and solemnly gesturing to the sofa, asked him to sit down. "I guess I'm not the only one with a Christmas secret," she began, and at first Wyatt assumed Lucy was talking about a gift and sought to reassure her.

"I'm actually glad to hear that," he smiled ruefully, "Because I know we agreed not to buy each other anything for Christmas, but then I saw something that I thought you'd like, and got it anyway..." Wyatt's voice trailed off when Lucy pressed her lips together and began to shake her head vigorously. "Sweetheart, why are you shaking your head? I don't understand," and then his world tilted on its axis for a brief second when she abruptly took his hand and placed it on her flat stomach. _What? Wait a minute–did that mean what he thought it did?_

"I'm pregnant," she whispered, smiling at him hesitantly, placing her hand over his where it rested on her stomach and squeezing lightly. _A baby...they were going to have a baby?_ The sheer joy on Lucy's face left no doubt how she felt about an unplanned pregnancy, and he knew his next words were crucial.

Swallowing thickly, Wyatt leaned in and kissing her tenderly, said, "You have made me the happiest man in the world, Lucy Preston, by agreeing to be my wife and soon, you'll be the mother of my child," and then she started crying again. In between tears, Wyatt slipped the gold band on her left hand, relieved when it fit perfectly. Looking at the ring gracing her slender hand, all his worry about their future melted away, and Wyatt knew without a doubt whether or not Rufus returned, exactly where and _when_ he and Lucy would spend the rest of their lives...

 _A/N: I was thrilled with the response to the first chapter of this story, and hope everyone enjoys this second part as well. Believe it or not, when I started writing this chapter, I actually hadn't decided whether or not Wyatt and Lucy would remain in the past forever. But after all, this is an AU, and the more I wrote, the clearer it seemed what their choice would be (helped along, no doubt, by the pending arrival of baby Logan, lol)._

 _As a special surprise, I'm pleased to announce that I have about two-thirds of an epilogue to this story written already-just a little glimpse into their lives a few years from now-and hope to post it tomorrow or the next day. As always, the wonderful support from all of you is very much appreciated. Thanks! :))_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

 _Epilogue_

 _Late Spring 1962 - West Texas_

The early morning sky was cloudless as far as the eye could see and turning the color of bluebonnets when Wyatt pulled the Ford station wagon off the side of the dusty road just past a mailbox that read "Sherwin" in faded letters and killed the engine. It had been a little over three days since leaving Darlington, and now that they'd finally reached their destination, the mix of doubt and anticipation he managed to successfully keep tamped down during the long drive began to build again.

Beside him, Lucy murmured, "Are you okay? Because it's fine with me if you don't think you can go through with this. We can just turn around and go home if you want–your decision, Wyatt," and he didn't think he'd ever loved his wife more. Turning his head, Wyatt searched her beloved face intently and found only patience and understanding and so much _love_ for him shining in her soft brown eyes.

What he'd done to deserve such a woman was beyond his understanding, but as usual Lucy had known exactly what he needed to hear. "I'm good," Wyatt answered calmly–and meant it.

He and Lucy exchanged indulgent smiles when suddenly a little voice called from the backseat, "Daddy? We there yet? I'm awful thirsty." _Wait for it, here it comes...and there it was_ : "Me, too, Daddy!" a second high-pitched voice piped up. Well, their sons were predictable, if nothing else. Turning around in his seat, Wyatt beheld the three beautiful, bright-eyed children looking at him expectantly, who-along with their equally beautiful, bright-eyed mother-made up his whole world: the oldest, Christopher, turning six next month, followed by Henry (nicknamed Hank) who'd just celebrated his fourth birthday, and last, but certainly not least, the youngest member of the Logan family, their daughter Amy.

It had probably been a crazy idea, loading three children under the age of six in a station wagon and driving nearly 1,500 miles from South Carolina to Texas, but this journey was one that Wyatt had been thinking about for quite a while. Finally, about a year ago, just months after Amy was born, an exasperated Lucy took the bull by the horns and ordered him to make the plans because _his brooding was driving her crazy._..and so here they were.

"What about you, Sweet Pea?" Wyatt asked the little girl, "You need a drink, too?" He smothered a grin when she nodded solemnly, unruly raven curls bouncing around her sweet face. While the Logan boys clearly favored their father, with similar chestnut hair, deep blue eyes, and-to Lucy's delight-dimples, Amy Logan was pure Lucy, right down to her toes, in looks _and_ personality. And just like her mama, at not quite two years old, his youngest child already had Wyatt wrapped around her tiny little finger, which was just fine with him, because once the decision to remain in the past had been made on New Year's Eve 1955, the years since had been the happiest of Wyatt Logan's life...

 _Flashback_

 _December 31, 1955_

Although Lucy stubbornly insisted she could stay awake until midnight, Wyatt secretly had his doubts. Neither one of them were exactly night owls, what with Wyatt up early six days a week for work, and they were usually in bed by 10:00 most nights, even weekends. And since a pregnant Lucy seldom made it past 9:00 before falling asleep on the sofa, he was pretty sure they would be in bed long before the clock struck 12:00. As predicted, Lucy was out cold by 10:30, and Wyatt had just closed his eyes when he heard a quiet knock on the door.

Heart racing, he swiftly removed his arm from around Lucy's waist without waking her and jumping out of bed, retrieved his gun from the back of the dresser drawer. Naturally, Wyatt's first thought was Rittenhouse, that somehow Carol Preston had figured out where they were and sent her red-haired assassin after them. No way in hell was he going to let Emma hurt Lucy or their unborn child. Creeping down the hallway, he stood to one side of the door and peeked through the curtain to see the outline of a tall figure.

Gun in his right hand and slowly reaching for the doorknob with the other, Wyatt was astonished to hear a vaguely familiar voice whisper loudly. "Wyatt? You in there? It's me, Rufus." _The hell?_ Yanking open the door, he was overjoyed to see it was indeed his friend, dressed all in black with a cap pulled low over his forehead.

"Rufus?" he asked disbelievingly, inviting the man in and hugging him tightly, "How did you find us?"

"Well, now, that's an interesting story, because see, for some reason, Wendell Scott looked like he'd seen a ghost when I showed up at his garage a couple hours ago. You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?" Rufus asked in a faintly disapproving tone before a big grin spread across his face.

Wyatt grimaced and muttered, "Uh, yeah, not exactly my finest moment, and listen, I can explain, but let me go get Lucy first. She's gonna be thrilled to see you." Rufus nodded and sat on the sofa while Wyatt woke Lucy, who was shocked and definitely thrilled to see their friend. Over the next hour, they filled each other in on everything that had happened since September, with Rufus saving the biggest bombshell for last.

"I probably should have led with this, but you'll both be happy to know that Rittenhouse is done, finished, spreading their crazy homogenized, misogynist plans for world domination no more." Wyatt instantly looked at Lucy, who was sitting on the sofa beside their friend. All the color had drained from her face, and her chest heaved as she blinked rapidly. Springing to his feet, Wyatt scooped Lucy up and sat with her on his lap, rubbing his hand up and down her back until she calmed enough for the pilot to continue.

Actually, by the time Rufus finished his explanation, Wyatt felt like _he_ might pass out, so great was his relief. In the end, it was Emma Whitmore's greed and hubris that brought down the secret organization and their scheming behind the scenes for nearly 250 years. Carol Preston and Nicholas Keynes were both dead, murdered by Emma herself, in an apparent coup, not that the redhead had savored her time at the top of the food chain for long. With the unexpected help of Benjamin Cahill in return for a reduced prison sentence, Agent Christopher located the group's last known headquarters and led a successful raid, recovering the mother ship and putting the handcuffs on Emma herself.

The Rittenhouse nightmare was over, and therefore, so was their mission. Rufus was here to take them home–back to 2018–where they would all be free to live normal lives. Lucy stiffened in his arms, and turning her face to his, Wyatt looked into her eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment until Lucy smiled and nodded before they turned to look at Rufus, who was watching them in bewilderment. "You guys are still doing that weird 'talking without saying any words' thing, I see," he observed with a slight frown.

Taking a deep breath, Wyatt answered, "Rufus, we're not going back with you to 2018. This is our home now," and when the other man started to argue, he shared their surprising news. "Lucy is pregnant...we're going to have a baby, and we've already decided to raise our family here."

Now Rufus was the one who looked like he might faint. Shaking his head vigorously, he opened and closed his mouth several times before finally settling on, "Um, congratulations?" Lucy climbed off Wyatt's lap and gave Rufus a fierce hug, and thanked him for coming to find them. Just then the clock struck 12:00, and it was January 1, 1956.

There wasn't much to say after that. Since the NSA had possession of both the mother ship and lifeboat, Rufus was pretty sure Agent Christopher, while naturally disappointed Lucy and Wyatt chose to remain in the past, would understand and be willing to let Rufus and Jiya visit them at least once a year. And so they did, every New Year's Eve...

 _End Flashback_

Leaning across the seat, Lucy murmured in his ear, "Quit stalling...remember, they just finished breakfast an hour ago," nuzzling his cheek affectionately. "I know you're a little apprehensive, but it's going to be okay. You'll see."

 _Well, hell_. Sometimes (most of the time, actually) Wyatt thought his wife knew him better than he knew himself. Still, he possessed enough stubborn Texas pride to offer a half-hearted protest. "I'm _not_ stalling here, Mrs. Logan. You might not be aware it's thirsty work riding around West Texas this time of year...Hey, I'm just trying to be a good husband and father..."

She laughed out loud at that, grinning at Wyatt and drawing his face to hers, breathed against his lips, "You're ridiculous sometimes, Wyatt Logan, 'cause you know you're a _great_ husband and father, but I love you anyway."

Swiping a quick kiss, he retorted softly, "Damn right you do," pressing his forehead to hers lovingly.

A scant second passed before little Hank gasped and blurted out, "Mama, Daddy said a swear," watching his parents with wide eyes.

"Aw, Hank, don't be a big baby. Grownups say swears all the time," Christopher scolded in defense of their father with all the superiority of an older brother.

"Not Daddy, Chris," Hank insisted, lower lip trembling, while Amy patted her brother's leg in sympathy and echoed, "Not Daddy."

"Nice going, Daddy," Lucy said under her breath, trying to keep a straight face, evidently quite content to let Wyatt diffuse the situation. _Yeah, probably better nip this in the bud before all hell broke loose in the backseat._

"Alright, now, that's enough," he warned firmly in a mild tone, and the little voices instantly fell silent. "Yes, Chris, grownups do swear now and then, but it doesn't mean you're allowed to talk down to your brother that way, and Hank, Daddy shouldn't have said a swear, but remember, we don't tattle in this family. Do I make myself clear, boys?" He smiled gently to lessen the sting of the reprimands.

"Yes, sir," they answered obediently, followed a beat later by Amy clapping her chubby hands and happily yelling what sounded like _yeah, sure_ , and cracking her brothers up.

Leaning closer, his wife advised dryly, "As much as I always love watching you parent our children, Mr. Logan, 'cause it's pretty hot, I think this might be a good time to get out of the car before they remember they outnumber us," and once more Wyatt was reminded how blessed he was to have Lucy as his wife and the mother of his children.

"Yes, Ma'am," he grinned agreeably, stealing one last sweet kiss before getting out of the car and opening the door so the boys could scramble out. Lucy lifted Amy out of the back seat and handing her off to Wyatt, called the boys over to her. As usual, their sons were dressed alike, today wearing red and blue striped tee shirts, shorts and their beloved black Chucks, hair neatly combed, while Amy wore a red gingham dress with a matching headband holding back her dark curls. Once Lucy was satisfied everyone had clean faces and they were all presentable, she took the boys by the hand, and the Logans headed up the gravel driveway toward a big white farmhouse set back a ways from the road.

Wyatt came to a halt at the edge of the yard, swallowing hard at the sudden lump in his throat. It had been nearly 25 years since he'd last seen his grandparents' home after their deaths before leaving for the Army–just an angry, lonely, _lost_ 18-year-old saying goodbye to the only stable, loving home he'd known since his mother died. Comforted by the presence of Lucy and their sons at his elbow, Wyatt smiled absently at his little girl when Amy patted his cheek and staring at him wide-eyed, asked, "Daddy sad? Hmm?"

But before he could answer, the front door opened suddenly, and Wyatt couldn't breathe for a second, his arms unconsciously tightening around the toddler he was holding. Standing on the porch in front of them was his grandpa, James Sherwin, looking impossibly young and tall and healthy and _young_. In the back of his head, he knew that Grandpa was born in 1924, so on this beautiful spring day in 1962, the man was all of 38 years old, younger than Wyatt was now. "Morning, neighbors, can I help you?" James asked pleasantly, a curious gleam in those very familiar blue eyes–the same ones Wyatt saw in the mirror each morning and had passed down to his sons.

Unprepared for the sudden wave of emotion that threatened to choke him, Wyatt started to speak, but before he could, his small daughter beat him to the punch. "Hi, man," she chirped, unknowingly waving tiny fingers at her great-grandfather, who stepped forward with a welcoming smile.

"Well, hi, yourself, little one," he rumbled, and Wyatt unconsciously shivered _–it really was him._ He'd know that deep voice anywhere, and even though Wyatt had tried to mentally and emotionally prepare himself for this moment, it was still rather overwhelming. Thank God for his wife. He felt his nerves settle at the reassuring touch of her small hand on his back, and the cover story they'd come up with miraculously popped into his head.

Clearing his throat, Wyatt replied, "Morning. Sorry to trouble you, but we're from South Carolina–Darlington, actually–on our way to visit some of my wife's relatives in El Paso, and well, our station wagon has gone and overheated just a bit, and I thought to give her a rest," praying he sounded half-way convincing. As he recalled, his grandpa was a pretty good judge of character and didn't suffer fools lightly.

To his great relief, he must have pulled it off because James immediately nodded sympathetically and said, "That's some tough luck, folks, especially when you're nearly 200 miles yet from El Paso, and it's gonna get pretty warm here as the day gets longer. I'm James Sherwin. Why don't you all come on inside and we'll get these thirsty-looking youngsters something cold to drink, alright?" chuckling when three small heads nodded enthusiastically.

Holding the screen door open, he ushered the Logans inside the thankfully cooler front room, and urged, "Come on back to the kitchen and meet my wife, Betsy." Minutes later, they were all seated around a sturdy oak table that he remembered well from his childhood. Wyatt knew he was staring, but it _was_ somewhat disconcerting to see his grandma looking so pretty and youthful as she bustled around setting out a generous plate of homemade sugar cookies and ice cold glasses of fresh lemonade. Somehow over the years, he'd forgotten how much his own mother resembled this woman.

Fortunately, his wife instinctively sensed Wyatt was a little fragile at the moment, and smoothly made introductions. "Thank you for inviting us into your lovely home. I'm Lucy Logan, and this is my husband, Wyatt, and these are our children, Chris, Hank, and Amy."

Taking a seat at the large table beside Lucy, Betsy smiled warmly at the children, who to Wyatt's relief (and Lucy's credit) were behaving themselves. She seemed especially taken with Amy, who'd settled in comfortably on her daddy's lap and was delicately demolishing her sugar cookie. "You have a beautiful family, Mrs. Logan," she complimented. When Lucy thanked her and asked politely if she and her husband had any children (even though naturally Wyatt knew they didn't at the moment). Betsy blushed slightly and laying her palm just below her waist, lowered her voice and confided, "Not yet, but soon. Our first child is due around the end of October."

Wyatt and Lucy exchanged subtle glances. The child Betsy was carrying would some day turn out to be Wyatt's mother, named Elizabeth at birth after her mother, but always called Libby. Hearing Lucy offer the other woman sincere congratulations, a sudden sense of peace came over Wyatt, for the first time in months.

Despite being exceedingly happy and content with Lucy and their children, and never once regretting the decision to live the rest of their lives in the past, since becoming a father himself, Wyatt had (perhaps irrationally) yearned for even the slightest connection to the grandparents he loved and missed so dearly. And once the idea that it might be possible to see them in person planted itself in his brain, he couldn't let it go–and for the life of him, couldn't explain it either.

But Wyatt worried for nothing-Lucy had immediately understood where he was coming from. As she had pointed out pensively, she would give anything to spend even a few minutes with her little sister again. They discussed the subject for months, worried about the potential ramifications, but eventually came to the conclusion that a brief interaction would probably be harmless enough. After careful consideration, and mindful of what Rufus had always told them about time travel, they decided it would be best to make contact before Wyatt's mother was born on October 31, 1962. Amy would probably still be in diapers, but Wyatt had no desire to drive across the South in the relentless heat of full summer with three small children and no air conditioning.

To Wyatt's dismay, the next hour flew by much too quickly. Across the table, Lucy and Betsy were chatting about babies like old friends while the boys sat on the floor playing with a couple of tiger-striped kittens from the barn. About a half hour ago, to his amusement and his grandpa's surprise, Amy had climbed off her daddy's lap and toddling over to James, sweetly demanded, "Up, man," falling asleep with her face tucked trustingly against the other man's chest.

As reluctant as he was to leave, Wyatt knew it was time. The longer they spent with James and Betsy, the greater the chance this particular time line could be corrupted in some way. Looking over at Lucy, Wyatt suggested they should probably be going, and she immediately understood, offering him a wistful smile. Lucy helped Betsy carry the dirty glasses and plates over to the sink as James handed over a predictably fussy Amy to her father. Cradling his daughter in one arm, Wyatt offered his hand to his grandpa and thanked him for the hospitality, hoping the other man wouldn't notice the sudden thickness in Wyatt's voice.

Taking the boys by the hand, Lucy gently prompted them to thank Mr. and Mrs. Sherwin for the nice refreshments before following Wyatt to the front door. Halfway down the driveway, Wyatt turned around for one last look. James and Betsy were standing in the doorway, smiling widely and waving goodbye to their guests, and they looked so much like one of the last times Wyatt had seen them alive that he got a little choked up. Calmly instructing Chris to take Hank's hand, Lucy put her arm around Wyatt's back and soothed in a soft voice, "Hey, it's okay, you did just fine. But it's time to take our children and go home now, alright? The rest of our lives is waiting for us."

His heart overflowed with love at her wise words and blinking away a couple stray tears, Wyatt nodded in agreement. Once the kids were tucked in the back seat, he held open the car door for Lucy but not before taking her in his arms and kissing her soundly. "Thank you for this life we're building together, Lucy–I love you so damn much."

His wife smiled tenderly at him, but just as Wyatt's lips touched hers again, an indignant little voice floated out the car window, "Mama, Daddy said _another_ swear..."

 _A/N: I actually wrote the first half of this epilogue before I even started the second chapter. Like Wyatt, I got the idea in my head that he would love the chance to see his grandparents one more time, plus I wanted the opportunity to create a family for them. (Mommy Lucy and Daddy Wyatt are so much fun to write.) Neat note: I borrowed the names of Wyatt's grandparents and mother from my fic "First Steps." I hope you enjoyed this AU story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Big shout out to the cool Timeless people on Twitter for giving me the inspiration for this fic, and of course, my sincere thanks to all of you for the favorites, follows, and great reviews–I appreciate your support. And now back to writing Guarding My Heart. Thanks again :))_


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